


A Not-So-Great and Actually-Rather-Terrible Day for the Great and Terrible Papyrus - (featuring Sans)

by TrashTheater



Category: Undertale
Genre: M/M, Underfell, sick!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24586972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashTheater/pseuds/TrashTheater
Summary: Papyrus isn’t having such a good morning. Sans decides to stays home to take care of him with or without his approval. 10/10 description.
Relationships: Could be platonic - Relationship, Fellcest, Papyrus/Sans
Comments: 7
Kudos: 63





	A Not-So-Great and Actually-Rather-Terrible Day for the Great and Terrible Papyrus - (featuring Sans)

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes, we all have that urge. To write _that_ story. ... _This_ story… this _exact_ story… This same damn sick fic that everyone needs to write... at least three or four separate times...

The Great and Terrible Papyrus was feeling considerably less Great and significantly more Terrible than usual. 

Papyrus rolled over, dragging with him the blankets he’d cocooned himself in. Groggily, he hit the ‘snooze’ button—for the third time—and let his hand drop hard on the mattress. 

He had to get up. It was already half an hour since he was supposed to start getting ready. Normally, by this time he would be dressed and halfway through his morning run, debating which tried-and-true-method would be most effective to get Sans out of bed, and deciding what to make for breakfast. 

He really should get up. 

He _needed_ to get up… 

His whole body jerked as the alarm went off again, the shrill sending a spike of pain through his skull—Another ten minutes past. 

Now he was _forty_ minutes behind schedule. 

He groaned, pushing himself up as he rubbed his sockets. The blankets fell away, exposing his heated bones to his abnormally frigid temperature bedroom. As a skeleton the cold didn’t normally bother him, but the night must have been ridiculously cold for his room to feel so chilled. He’d have to check on some of the more cold-sensitive residences after his rounds. It didn’t help that he’d been so well bundled, his body damp with sweat making the cold feel infinitely colder. 

With limbs like lead, Papyrus forced himself out of bed. He couldn’t risk falling asleep again, even as the warm blankets begged him to toss his dedication out the window like many of Sans’ misplaced socks. He trudged to the closet, still trying to shake that temptation. He passed over his usual morning workout clothes, and even his work uniform. Instead he settled on a heavy black sweater, warm pants, and then an extra jacket over that. Still his bones rattled unpleasantly, and even tugging on his scarf and gloves couldn’t seem to take the bite out of the chill. 

What he needed was coffee, he decided with a nod. Obviously the solution to his trouble was a hearty breakfast and a strong dose of caffeine. Papyrus wasn’t usually a _‘don’t talk to me till I’ve had my coffee’_ -type (actually, it tended to make him jittery, occasionally even irritable), but clearly: He needed coffee. 

Staircases turned out to be more difficult than he remembered them being. Each step sent an odd, nauseating twist through his magic, and he had to step smooth and lightly as he worked his way down, keeping a firm grip on the railing. By the time he reached the bottom he was about ready to crash on the couch. 

“...been spending too much time with Sans...” he grumbled, hunching his shoulders and rubbing his arms before he shuffled off to the kitchen “...coffee, coffee…” 

Setting a pot to brew, he decided to just reheat some leftovers for breakfast. It would be quicker and he was content with that idea until he opened a container of lasagna and nearly gagged from the scent alone. The idea of trying to choke down the thick pasta was revolting, and he rather quickly shoved it back in the fridge. 

Was there anything else? Searching through the cabinets brought up mostly more pasta products and he simply didn’t feel up to making anything with the remaining selection. Maybe he’d just skip breakfast? Food didn’t seem very appealing anyways…. he just wanted coffee… 

Which was taking forever, he thought, unintentionally swaying on his feet. Attempting to shake off the weariness proved ineffectual, and he resigned himself to dealing with it until the machine could finish. The second it had he filled his favorite mug right to the top, taking a greedy gulp—only to nearly spit it right back out.

It was so bitter! Was it usually this bitter? Coffee wasn’t a regular part of his diet, but he did habitually take it black (if only to avoid Sans’s taunting, or others seeing him ‘weakening’ it). Still… he really couldn’t bring himself to drink any more the way it was... 

Reluctantly, he poured some out in the sink to make room for milk and sugar, before collapsing at the table. 

The milk swirled at the top of the mug, and he stared at it disinterested, the soft brown blooming across a dark canvas. Lieutenant in the King’s Guard, Right Hand to the Captain; Papyrus had squashed rebellions, hunted down hordes of evildoers, and dismantled entire organized crime rings-...and he had never been this _damned_ tired before… 

He let out a sigh, resting his forehead in his hand, thinking about everything else he had left to do just to finish getting ready. In his mug the light continued to swirl, having nearly consumed the dark completely...

Again, he was startled awake by a loud sound. This time the rapid smacks of feet against the staircase. Papyrus rubbed his face with a groan, a throbbing pain making itself known in the very center of his skull and spreading outward. 

When had he closed his eyes? 

His coffee was cold… 

“boss!?” Sans called, sprinting around the corner only to skid to a stop when he found Papyrus just sitting there. He hadn’t gotten dressed yet, Papyrus observed annoyed, as Sans’ tense posture drained out of him slowly. “m... mornin, boss? everythin... alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” Papyrus grumbled, standing up to reheat his coffee. The mug felt heavier than certain pieces of his armor. 

“ya sure about that?” Sans eyed him. “you uh… typically drag my sorry ass outta bed, like, an hour ago.” 

An hour? Papyrus held back another sigh. He was late to work. He hated being late for work. Hated being late for anything. Hated the way his head was throbbing. Hated how cold it was. Hated how all he wanted to do was just go back to-

“—oss?! _papyrus!_ ” 

“WHAT!?” He snapped, before realizing that Sans had been shouting for him while he’d been silently glaring at the counter. “...what?” He repeated calmer. The yelling had made his head worse and it would be best to avoid that in the future. 

Sans narrowed his sockets again. He stepped towards him and stuck out his hand. “come here for a sec.” 

Papyrus rolled his eyes, knocking the hand away. “Go get ready for work, you slacker.” He brushed past him, deciding to abandon the coffee in favor of doing the same himself. “I’m already running late, and I don’t have time for your foolish-” 

His soul flickered blue, magic yanking him down. 

Under typical circumstances, Papyrus was more than strong enough to resist his brother’s magic, at least long enough to prepare a counter or find a way to shake him off—so Sans always used full force when he resorted to it. Unfortunately, on this particular day—for no specific reason as far as Papyrus was concerned—his legs gave out like a newborn calf, and his knees smashed to the ground with a force that nearly made him yelp. 

Sans winced at the unexpected response, before racing around in front of him. 

Papyrus was going to _kill him-!_ ...-just as soon as the world stopped spinning. And his stomach stopped feeling like it existed just so it could revolt against his whole being with all it’s might. And he could feel his legs again. 

There wasn’t much time to start formulating a battle-plan, before cool phalanges pressed up against his skull. 

_Oh… that felt nice…_

Papyrus had been so focused on the cold and the pain, that he hadn’t had the chance to realize how hot and uncomfortable he was. The jacket was a bad idea, he supposed, leaning further into the touch, not so much as flinching as Sans leaned in to press their foreheads together. 

It felt _really nice…_

“ya’ve got a fever, bro.” 

Papyrus grunted. “Can’t have a fever.” 

“oh, well, guess ya don’t then,” Sans scoffed, although the sarcasm was gentle. It faded into a thoughtful tone. “...ya can’t go to work like this.” 

“I’m not sick,” Papyrus argued, already knowing that it wasn’t going to work. “I’m not skipping my duties…” He was leaning forward pretty heavily, pressing too much weight against Sans’s shoulder, already feeling a little better just being off his feet, even half-curled up on the floor like he was. “...I’m not…” 

Sans was talking again, the smooth rumble against the side of his skull lulling Papyrus into a daze. It was probably something important—No. Sans never talked about anything important. Papyrus could probably ignore it. That was fine. He really should get up soon though. He hadn’t finished his coffee. Hadn’t even started his coffee, actually...

He did yelp, this time, when a sudden movement swept him up off the ground. “relax, bro,” Sans said, as he started to struggle. “told ya: m’just taking ya to yer room.” 

Papyrus didn’t want to _relax!_ He wasn’t a babybones and he damn well didn’t need to be carried like one! 

...But neither did he really want to put up a fight. If only—he told himself—because he wasn’t likely to defeat his brother under these specific conditions and not at all because he wasn’t convinced he would be able to catch himself if he did manage to break free. Instead, he gripped Sans’s night shirt, pressing into him to block out the world spinning past. 

“can’t go outside like this, boss. gonna get yerself killed.” 

“M’fine…” he muttered, holding tighter. 

“clearly.” Sans chuckled. 

Papyrus grumbled, pressing even closer, but relaxing just a little against him. _Whatever…_ So he wasn’t feeling up for the usual amount of stubborn. Let Sans do what he wanted; Papyrus could just get out of bed when he left. They were already late, another few minutes couldn’t make things worse. 

“Don’t drop me…” 

“never,” Sans promised. Papyrus wanted to scoff, pretend that he didn’t believe him. But he was too busy being lulled again, by the gentle movements as Sans easily carried him up the stairs.

When Sans laid him down in bed, Papyrus moved to get right back up. He was stopped by a hand to the sternum, feeling as steady and immovable as a bulldozer as it forced him back down. The blanket was pulled up to his chin and tucked in around him. “fight all ya want boss. i’m not letting ya outta this house.” 

Papyrus sank back into the pillow with a sound he intended to be a growl. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Sans shrugged. “that’s fine with me. gonna keep being ridiculous while i get ya some breakfast. an’ make some calls. you stay here.”

Papyrus sighed. Another few minutes, then. He’d let Sans fuss over him, and finish getting ready as soon as he left for work. 

He did his best to remain awake, refusing to doze off and prove Sans’ point while he waited. It was too cold again. The blankets were sweet-talking him again with their comfort, the mattress sagging in just that right way to make him never want to get up again. The longer he remained horizontal, the more his nausea subsided.

He refused to let his eyes close. And he didn’t, even as the warmth cradled him, and sleep called, and he began to _dream. Strange dreams, behind closed sockets. Aggressive and sharp for how blurry they were. The shapes and sounds that reminded him he was getting ready for work. A struggle to find his clothes. Pulling on different parts of his uniform over and over, without ever getting closer to being dressed. Just more and more and more and…_

The door opened and he stirred, his sleep interrupted by the sound of Sans whispered hissing into the phone. “-’s not coming in. can’t make myself much clearer, ya deaf bitch.” He was holding the phone wedged into place with his shoulder, carefully balancing a tray so neither the soup or water spilt. 

How long had it been this time? 

“yeah?” Sans tone was dark with anger, but it contrasted poorly with the grin he was trying to hold back. When he noticed Papyrus was awake—eyeing him blearily—he winked. “well, why don’t you try it? lets see if ya make it through the door. we can have sushi for dinner.”

The Captain. Papyrus sighed, pushing himself up and motioning for the phone. Sans placed the tray on his nightstand, pointedly turning so the phone was further away from him. 

“yeah, that’s what i thought.” Sans winked again, and Papyrus wasn’t sure if he should chuckle or strangle him. The smell of the soup distracted him from making a decision at all. “sure, i’ll let him know. _if_ he decides to come in tomorrow.” 

He hung up the phone with a triumphant snap. 

“You know I’m going to have to deal with that tomorrow, right?” Papyrus grumbled. His voice was weak, almost scratchy and he was suddenly very relieved that Sans hadn’t handed him the phone after all. 

“lookit! made ya some soup!” Sans jazzed his hands towards the bowl, stoutly ignoring his concerns. 

“You made soup?” Papyrus repeated. “What time is it? Why did you wait this long to call Undyne? How long was I out?” 

“not long enough…” Sans muttered snarkily, helping him sit up better, and even fluffing his pillow in a successful attempt to be both helpful and as condescending as possible. Papyrus rolled his eyes as a hand pressed back against his forehead. “ya seem a little better for it, though. alright, let's get ya some food, then back to bed.” 

Papyrus glared, but didn’t argue as Sans moved the tray to his lap, sitting down near his knees. It did smell good. But a low acidic burn had started in the thirty whole seconds he’d been upright. Sans had already called Undyne, so his reservations about staying home were unwarranted at this point. With that being the case, he’d rather go straight back to sleep. He felt so heavy...

“-boss?” Sans called gently. Papyrus glared, as though he hadn’t zoned out and how dare Sans insinuate he wasn’t paying attention. “come on, bud. ya gotta eat something.” 

“I’m not hungry.”

“neat!” Sans’ grin widened as Papyrus scowled. “but i’m not leavin till ya eat—hm…‘bout half of this, so… and look. even brought ya crackers.” 

Papyrus scoffed. His brother was usually too lazy to put up much of a fight over anything. Of course this would be one of those times when Sans had to be just as stubborn as he was. 

_But was that really a surprise?_ There was only one thing that ever got Sans moving. Only one reason he was ever driven to fight. _One person..._

“wan’ me ta feed ya?” Sans offered, almost sounding sincere if it wasn’t for his sardonic grin as he picked up the spoon. “vrooosh-! here comes the plane~” 

“I will dislocate that hand,” Papyrus gruffed. 

Sans clicked his tongue, amused. “should i have stuck with a train? a little ‘choo choo’ before you ‘chew chew’?” 

Papyrus snatched the spoon, broth landing mostly on the tray as he yanked it away. “If I eat, will you shut your insufferable trap? I’m already sick, there’s no need to torture me as well.” 

With a wide, self-satisfied grin, Sans held up his hands in mock surrender, then pantomimed locking his teeth with a rather rickety key. 

Still grumbling, Papyrus reluctantly returned to the food. He really didn’t want it, but it smelled inoffensive, and the warmth rising off it was inviting. Mostly, he just wanted Sans to let him go back to sleep, so he forced himself to take a bite. 

He was expecting it to be sour. Not because his brother couldn’t make good soup—he could cook just fine when he was willing to apply himself—Papyrus had just been expecting anything he put in his mouth to taste sour. Or bitter, like the coffee. Instead, it only tasted like a plain warm liquid, it taking a number of bites before he was able to recognize and appreciate the subtle salty-sweetness of the broth. 

The spoon was heavy, but his reservations disappeared as he continued to eat. Sans watched, mercifully keeping his mouth shut. 

Papyrus was able to almost finish it before the weariness fully set in again. Sans noticed before he did, already straightening up the tray to get it out of the way. “plenty more fer when ya wake up, boss. have some water, then i’ll get out of yer _hair_ , and let ya get some sleep.”

Papyrus could smack him for thinking he was in a position to be giving orders right now, but… _god_ , did sleep sound wonderful right now. He ended up drinking what he could, obediently, gulping down most of it with a little surprise at how soothing it felt. Sans praised him as he took it away and helped him back in bed. Papyrus was certain it was condescendingly, even if he was too tired to hear the mocking edge to it, and did his best to bat away the gentle hands. 

“relax, bro... doesn’t that feel a little better?” 

“Don’t need your pity,” he grumbled, even as he sank into his pillow, and found the blanket pulled back up over him. He did feel better— _fractionally_ —although he wouldn’t be admitting it now or ever, thank you. “And stop _coddling_ me. I am fine. I just need a few minutes and I’ll be-“ 

That cool hand found his forehead again, and his leadened sockets dropped closed, words disappearing like smoke. 

Already he was drifting off. Hopefully he hadn’t been saying anything important, because he’d completely forgotten what it was. There was nothing but his blanket and the satisfying weight of intent-heavy food; the inviting darkness around him and the cool phalanges, now soothing over the top of his skull; and the comforting feeling of his brother sitting beside him on the bed, watching over him. 

“c’mon, boss… i’m serious,” he said, and Papyrus tried to listen—tried to fight against the pull of unconsciousness—tried... “let me take care of you for once, okay?” 

_Stupid_ , Papyrus thought, his mouth refusing to form the words as he drifted off dispite his insistence he stay aware. Like Sans hadn’t taken care of him his whole life. Like Sans hadn’t been the one to keep him alive, taught him how to survive in this shitty world of theirs. Like it wasn’t Papyrus’ turn to be the strong one, to be the one who took care of him. Like...

The thoughts were turning to colors, shifting and swirling into a confusing, although peaceful, fever dream. All the while he was aware of the cool fingers on his skull; eventually a cool, damp cloth; the blankets being returned anytime he moved or grew fitful; and a deep voice droning on and on, reminding him that he was still safe. 

Well… maybe this sort of thing was fine... once in a while.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been pretty distracted by everything going on IRL lately, so I haven’t been much for focus. Thought I’d type up an old unfinished draft instead, see if I could manage to finish it and, hey, look at that. 
> 
> It's a pointless little fluff moment... but I’m pretty pleased with it. Let me know what you think! Anyone else wish there was significantly more coddling?? (I want coddles-!!! Look at how sick he is-!!! *chomps at bit* _must protec-!!!_ )
> 
> **[And to utilize my small platform: If you want to help support BLM but are broke like me: Search “Support BLM Playlist” on youtube, and blast it! They donate their revenue to the cause. Turn off AD block and keep the volume up, but if you want you can pop in headphones and just leave it playing in the background while you do other stuff! Every small bit helps!]**
> 
> Stay safe!


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